The Voice of Mahmoud
were too few for such a maneuver. He must save his fire for defense of the tower. Edith noticed his act, and promptly questioned him.
"It would be unnecessary bloodshed," he parried, not wishing to explain the true reason.
Donovan was silent. He drew her close to his side, his arm around the slender shoulder that pressed near him. Edith's hair was against his cheek, and she felt her warm breath on his throat.
The girl clung to him trustfully, her faith strong that the man she loved would do what was best, under all circumstances.
They watched the flares splutter into smoky gloom as the Tartars pulled down the poles. With this, the shooting from the tree tops dwindled perforce. The horses ceased their plunging, and an unnatural quiet settled upon the castle.
Once Donovan caught up his rifle and took a snap shot at a figure that explored the base of the tower from the summit of the hold. The form sank to the stone flooring and presently crawled away.
Again there was a brief clamor as the men below tried to take the tower ladder by surprise, and Aravang came into action. Donovan did not even think this important enough to go down the stairs, well knowing the advantages of position possessed by their burly friend. Presently this new tumult also ceased, and they knew that Aravang was still master of the stair.
The smoke currents eddied away from the courtyard. The new moon brightened, casting a luminous half light upon the plateau, the walls of the Kurgan—a light that blurred all outlines and was more treacherous than helpful.
Edith and Donovan watched it from the shelter of
261
